


Maybe we'll have each other

by jarofactonbell



Category: NU'EST, Wanna One (Band)
Genre: Gen, I tried my best, M/M, it started as 1000 words and now it had become 10k, mentioned choi seungcheol scoups, please excuse me, the slowest burn to ever burn, too man italics because i'm extra like that
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-31
Updated: 2017-12-31
Packaged: 2019-02-24 13:46:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,333
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13215012
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jarofactonbell/pseuds/jarofactonbell
Summary: “Why are we in isolation? Are there spies?” Jonghyun asks Minhyun. The dangerous look returns to the prince’s eyes again.“I know why father called you.”“That’s good? To know?”“It’s the reward system. He’s rewarding you.”“Oh god,” Jonghyun starts to envision what his foreseeable future seems like, “but I thought they don’t exist anymore.”Minhyun’s lips sit on a tight line.“Apparently not. He’s bringing them back.”





	Maybe we'll have each other

**Author's Note:**

  * For [an_anna](https://archiveofourown.org/users/an_anna/gifts).



> This is the gisaeng+nobleman historical AU! that I completely butchered. I am so sorry. I had a plan and it fell apart. I still learnt a lot writing this. Please overlook many historical inaccuracies because me being me didn't research like, at all
> 
> ALSO KWAK YOUNGMIN IS KWAK AARON

“Northern offences?”

“We’ve moved into their territories, although they didn’t put up much of a resistance. Our troops are coming back from the front lines, sir.”

“And you?”

The man lifted his head, blinking once, twice.

“Sir?”

“How do you feel about this victory, General Kim?”

“It’s always great to go home, sir.”

 

Kim Jonghyun. The king’s right-hand man. One of the highest-ranking generals in the royal army. Led the frontal assault on the Mings just last spring and won back the northern territories from the armies of the Mings, rumoured to be indestructible. A man of skilled swords’ art, calligraphy, gentle mannerisms and scholarly upbringing. Someone whom the gods blessed with both looks and good manners. Adopted by the palace’s Buddhist monk Kwak Youngmin at birth where he was given to the monk by his relatives, who could not raise him. Brought up inside the palace and the temple simultaneously, he is a beloved presence always by prince Minhyun’s side since birth, another son to the king.

Hwang Minhyun. The Crown Prince to the throne. A close friend of Jonghyun ever since birth. They were trained both in combat and calligraphy together, Minhyun excelling at archery while Jonghyun preferring to the sword. Brothers since childhood and brothers in arms. Jonghyun would willingly lay down his life for Minhyun without hesitation and the prince would return the favour without expending time to think about it.

 

News of the army has arrived inside the Gyeongbok Palace. The Crown Prince peruses the official message of the Joseon army’s victory over the Mings. Outside the palace, the Korean people celebrate the safe return of the protectors of their homeland.

The army of men heading back inside the city’s gate, celebrated by colourful dyed flags and cheers from the civilians. Representing them all, the second prince Ong Seongwoo, with his horse the most ornately designed and his armour the finest leather, walks ahead. At the end of the procession, general Kim Jonghyun, his armour blending into the masses of the horse-ridden soldiers, except for the sword bearing the royal seal hanging on his back.

The king himself, accompanied by his three most trusted men, stands at the palace’s gate to welcome them. The army slide off their horses in unity, heads bowed and a few even prostrated in instinctive surprise, not expecting the king himself to greet them. Seongwoo dismounts, fist clasped on his chest, head bowed. The king pats his son’s shoulder and regards his army.

“Gentlemen, I believe a celebration is to be called for.”

 

At Jonghyun, Yoon Jisung hands him a slip of paper. There is only a single line, in the king’s own handwriting.

_Meet me at my chamber by the hour of the rooster tonight._

 

“Oi, Jongie,” someone hisses, “pretend to talk war tactics with me.”

“Your highness,” Jonghyun chews the words he’s sure would throw him in jail for the capital crimes of speaking informally to the royal family, “in all respect, what are you trying to do?”

Hwang Minhyun looks miffed that his attempt of subtlety did not play out as well as he expected. Dusting his robes, simply designed with what is probably a whole week of embroidering, Minhyun rises to his full height, hand holding a goblet with crystalline liquid.

“How was the expedition?” He asks.

“Victorious. How was the palace?”

“You know the answer to that already, bastard,” Minhyun’s mouth twists, briefly, before morphing back to a practiced royally disinterested face. “Father sent for you, I heard.”

“From who?” Jonghyun steps aside for the messenger boys to deliver soldiers’ confessions to the lady courtesans and daughters of noblemen. The queen and first concubine converse, occasionally giggling, fluttering their fans.

“From your father,” Minhyun says while sipping from his cup, “he seems worried.”

“What’s the worst that can happen to me in your father’s chamber? Death?”

Minhyun mutters something unintelligible. It sounds a lot like _that would be preferable next to your snarky comments._

A gisaeng curtseys to the duke of Pusan and accompanies him out. Yoon Jisung tries to bribe Seongwoo into balancing a goblet on his nose.

“How strange would it be if I ask you to step outside, right this moment?” Minhyun’s voice teeters on a dangerous edge. Jonghyun turns to stare at him straight in the eye.

“Probably not at all? Everyone knows we’re as close as brothers can be. You can pretend I’m consulting my secret affair with you and need the privacy,” he shrugs. Minhyun conjures a soft gasp, eyes large and tries to not-so-discreetly pulls him outside. It seems excessive, but the court falls for it, thinking it is a secret lover Jonghyun has confided in the Crown Prince, his brother in all but blood. Outside the banquet hall, with the billowing wind of the coming autumn season. Minhyun lets go of Jonghyun’s arm, wringing his palms clean of the contact they made. Jonghyun, out of his ‘work’ clothes (seriously your armour cannot be clothes Jonghyun-ah – shut up Hyunnie I can call what I wear what I want) and naturally a brat, wipes his palm on Minhyun’s face, even as the prince flails and slaps his shoulder. After a round of vicious punches, they settle down, Minhyun keeping a safe distance from Jonghyun in case he creases his newly embroidered robes.

“Why are we in isolation? Are there spies?” Jonghyun asks Minhyun. The dangerous look returns to the prince’s eyes again.

“I know why father called you.”

“That’s good? To know?”

“It’s the reward system. He’s rewarding you.”

“Oh god,” Jonghyun starts to envision what his foreseeable future seems like, “but I thought they don’t exist anymore.”

Minhyun’s lips sit on a tight line.

“Apparently not. He’s bringing them back.”

The king, or as Jonghyun knows him as Minhyun’s appa (please don’t say that Jongie your head will go flying off and I don’t want to lose a two year-old) plays a game. Game is the loosest and most euphemistic term the courtesans can whisper and gossip about without fear of losing their heads. It’s the kind of game that is less game and more test of worthiness. His Highness takes into account those he considered worthy and rewards them. They’re not rewards. They’re traps. The first wave of people walked into this trap unknowing of the King’s intentions were crushed flat under lies and pretense.

It’s a bit confusing over the years. Before the Crown Prince was born, assassination plots were a regularity in the court, like the number of rats in sewers. Those close to the king were doubted. Multiple times assassins had infiltrated the ranks, creeping closer and closer to the throne. Thus, the king, one night during his midnight stroll, the sole guard, Choi Seungcheol, accompanying him, he devised the reward system.

Naturally everybody wanted to be in the king’s inner circle. Lieutenant Choi Seungcheol was one of the oldest friend of the king, his loyalty undoubted. Stories varied on how he obtained several scars on his back and shoulder, but the indisputable fact that they were sacrifices made to protect the king from mortal harm was clear. The only man who would lay down his life, unthinkingly, for the king was Choi Seungcheol, that everyone knew of.

Yoon Jisung soon followed. A senior governor renowned for his bookkeeping of the archives and weaponry along with his diplomatic skills, his charisma and impressionable facial expressions, the king was immediately intrigued by the sheer efficiency of him handling an impossible situation between some dukes of the north and south. Soon enough, Lieutenant Choi approached him and enlisted Governor Kim. He worked closely with the court’s inventory of finances and weaponry and a million-other paperwork. The king took an immediate liking to him, inviting him to hunts and banquets of the aristocrats. A reward was granted to him – not many knew what it was or what he did, but soon enough, beside Choi Seungcheol there was a comical figure pulling faces during war tactics meetings.

Kwak Youngmin, a Buddhist monk, a physician and someone who could de-escalate conflicts faster than soldiers who could draw swords, fell into the category of those souls who refused an invitation from the king. The public called them brave, some crazy. The only other person to turn down the king’s invitation was the queen herself, thinking that her brothers were joking around, the royal stamp taken for a fake. In both instances, the king had ventured, in the flesh, with the accompaniment of Lieutenant Choi each time, to greet the brave souls. The queen was shocked out of her wits, bowing to the king by the road when he approached her from behind. Doctor Kwak’s encounter was publicised and circulated within all classes of society the instance it occurred, too strange and frankly ridiculous to be taken as it is.

It went something like this.

The king and Lieutenant Choi approached the main Buddhist shrine, overlooked by a famed physician, Doctor Kwak, who cured a previously incurable snake bite just last spring for Duke of Pusan, who generously funded three shrines and plots of land under the good doctor’s name. It was high noon, the sun a vicious ball of heat atop their heads, the smell of incense thick in the air. The doctor was performing a ceremony, eyes closed and hands clapped in reverence at the serene statue of Buddha. The two men walked carefully across the pebble ground leading to the altar, but the doctor was alert before they could reach for their boots, unlacing strings to free their feet to be granted access to the altar.

“Take off your shoes!” Doctor Kwak pointed at them. The king bowed his head, too amused to be insulted. Lieutenant Choi obediently unlaced his boots, mouth moving some choice words under his breath.

“Scoundrels these days, no respect for the sacred teacher,” Aron turned back to face the statue, “please grant forgiveness and guidance to these unfortunate souls, divine teacher, for they are lost.”

“Sir, how many crimes had he breached by now?” Seungcheol spoke through tight lips.

“A good twenty, I’d say,” the king replied, amused as Aron swivelled around to stare at them, eyes pinched in an annoyed line, “at ease, Lieutenant. Let me speak to him.”

Seungcheol’s fingers splayed across the hilt of his sword, eyes narrowed like are you actually serious. The king laughed as the good doctor muttered a loud ‘Give me patience’ at the sky.

“Do you have a problem, or does the word it’s a holy sanctity mean nothing to you?” He started to rant at both men. Seungcheol reigned back in surprise, not used to being yelled at by monks or by anyone. The king was even more amused – no one dared to speak that way to him, ever. It was partly blasphemous and partly ridiculous. Youngmin didn’t give a damn that the king of Joseon was gracing his precious temple – the damn disrespectful rats interrupted his afternoon prayers and dear Buddha someone will have to answer to the break in his routine.

“That’s the king,” Seungcheol’s knee jerk response went.

“And? Is the king above religion now? Are people not allowed to worship the holy teacher now? Don’t start with your excuses I am still talking,” he brandished an ornamental branch at the king who opened his mouth to explain himself.

The king snorted loudly and very unkingly.

Kwak Youngmin glowered and threatened to throw his branch at them both. Seungcheol, head of the guards, moved instinctively to protect the king while the king himself threw back his head and laughed.

“SERIOUSLY GET OUT!” Doctor Kwak shrieked at them as they fled.

 

The next day a formal invitation to the king’s palace was extended to the temple. Kwak Youngmin, half-horrified and half-enraged he was challenged once more and by the same punk, even if the punk is the king of Joseon, accidentally made a rude gesture in court that left half the room in tears whenever someone brought it up afterwards, was accepted into the king’s inner circle.

For whatever reasons. The king himself didn’t want to elaborate on his qualifications. The ominous test lurking in the background did not help clear up any misunderstandings.

 

“Be very careful. Bail. You don’t need to be in father’s war tactic buddy group you already are in mine,” Minhyun seizes Jonghyun’s shoulder.

“I’d rather be in neither of those groups if I could help it,” Jonghyun removes the hand. “I’ll be fine, Minnie-yah.”

“No you won’t. Someone left the city. Another person retired. In tears. Who would I talk to when you die,” Minhyun’s eyes progressively get wider and wider, “or worst, insane?”

 “Plus you don’t even know for sure that it’s the reward system. It’s been ages. Nothing happened after your birth. What if he just simply wants to-”

“Shut up Hyunnie, I know father. Be careful. Don’t die. Or go insane.”

“You need to sort out your priorities,” Jonghyun tells him, face blank. Sobering up, he allows Minhyun to give him one (final) crushing hug with instructions of fleeing when danger is near, with him tapping the back of the crown prince’s head with reassurances of ‘I’ll be fine’.

 

Minhyun walks him to the location, weirdly enough not the king’s chamber but one of his studies, located in the east wing, defying about four bodyguards and his own maid. After one last kick to the shin, the prince leaves, throwing furtive looks at Jonghyun’s back as he too disappears inside.

The person sitting inside lifts their head and gives him a short, “Oh hey,” then glances back down at his scroll.

Why – why is there a really good-looking person?

He truthfully expected like, a cobra, or at the very least a trained assassin. Is this how assassins look now? Pretty boys? So that they won’t be suspected when they come and kill their intended? He knows the king like an uncle, but this is stretching too far if assassination is how the king measures the worth of someone in his inner band of mates and trusted associates.

“Sir, excuse me, sir,” the guy raises a hand, “breathe.”

Jonghyun lets out an embarrassingly loud exhale. He chokes and tries to breathe more quietly as the person (man/woman/??) tries to hide a smile, putting the scroll away.

“Uh, hi, are you,” he tries to think of a way to phrase _are you my killer_ in a polite and inoffensive manner, to delay his inevitable death, but the person beats him to it.

“Your gisaeng? Yes. I am Ren. Pleased to make your acquaintance.”

What.

What. The. Actual.

What.

“I’m going to need a moment,” Jonghyun squeezes out, “to digest all of that.”

“Take all the time you need, sir. I have all night,” Ren leans back, shrugging like he does have all the time in the world.

Meanwhile Jonghyun is in Panic Mode. This was not part of his training. He still holds a lingering doubt that Ren (or whoever he actually is) is an assassin sent to kill him off, but the whole night escort thing seems:

  1. Too personal to be designed by anyone else
  2. Too personal because he never told anyone he leans towards men
  3. Too different to what he imagined
  4. Like an actual test



Is celibacy a test? Is the king trying to say that homosexuality is not tolerated in his kingdom? What is the purpose of this test?

“The king sent you, yes?”

Ren flutters his fingers. “Yes. He purchased my service for the night.”

“Don’t say that,” Jonghyun scolds him, “you are not an object. And for the whole,” he chokes on the word, “service part, ignore that. Just keep me company.”

“I don’t mean any offence,” Ren’s face tells him otherwise, the clear _you are disrupting my career_ frown on his lips, “but a job is a job. The king will cease business at my workplace if I don’t fulfil my part of the contract here.”

Jonghyun doesn’t enunciate _did he hire you for sex_ but the brief wide-eyed glance he passes over to Ren probably suffices the enquiry. Ren rolls his eyes like, _duh, obviously._

“You’re an escort. You’re not a prostitute,” he splutters, wits gone.

“He specifically outlined ‘intercourse’, general, so just let me-” Ren tries to push him down, one fist around the collar of his robe. Jonghyun’s knees come up instinctively, soldier’s training ingrained in his blood as he throws Ren off him, eyes flashing with alertness.

“No,” he holds out one finger. It’s meant to be threatening.

Ren throws up his hands like he doesn’t know what to do anymore.

“What am I supposed to do then?” He asks. Almost snarls.

“Tell me stuff, about you, something, anything. I don’t sleep much after an expedition,” Jonghyun waves a hand and puts distance between the two of them, lest Ren tries to unrobe him again.

“That’s concerning,” Ren informs him, “from one person to another. And there’s not much I can sell myself for besides my dashingly good looks. Besides this I don’t have much going for me.”

“Besides your vanity it seems,” Jonghyun can’t stop his remarks.

“Shut up. You wish you have my face,” a finger at his face.

“I’m good thanks.”

“God why couldn’t I get a normal hot-blooded male who thinks I’m a woman and goes off screaming when he sees my dick,” Ren throws him a look, “instead I get you. You a celibate or something? I heard you’re that crazy monk doctor’s kid.”

“Crazy monk doctor,” he repeats, not sure if he should relay this information back to his father whose reactions might be a tad unpredictable given insults to his face. He settles with a ‘why’, but with less feeling than required.

“Who am I to defy gossip?” Ren lifts an elegant shoulder. His robe slips. Jonghyun squints at the exposed skin until the other man sighs and pulls his robe back to cover up.

“Yes yes I’m a prude,” he interrupts Ren’s coming remarks, “tell me something I don’t know.”

“Actually,” the escort leans forward, “know how to draw?”

 

“Your stroke work is,” Ren hums, “decent. I did not expect that.”

“I’m trained in calligraphy,” Jonghyun replies, adding another stroke to the tail of the peacock.

“Yeah but not at colouring,” Ren stops his brush from touching the page, “you are atrocious at this and I need you to stop.”

“It’s not that,” the painting is moved closer to the sliver of light spilling in between the door hinges, “I take back my words. Destroy this please.”

Ren does not need to say _I told you but you didn’t listen_. He only slides back the scroll and rolls it back to its original shape.

“It’s early morn,” Ren tells him, “it’s been entertaining. I hope your king is happy he’s being ripped off. I charge a ridiculous amount every time someone requires my service.”

“It’s not my money, so,” Jonghyun shrugs before he can stop himself, “you are free to leave.”

“I heard that,” Ren pulls his feet from under his legs, standing soundlessly. A brilliant smile is on his lips.

“Maybe I’ll see you soon, General Kim.”

Jonghyun stares at him evenly. “Maybe so, Ren-ssi. Be careful on your way back.”

“I’m too pretty to be attacked,” Ren flips his long hair and he is gone in the blink of an eye.

 

 

Minhyun is so taken aback that he’s sane and not dead that Jonghyun feels mildly offended instantly when Minhyun’s first greeting to him is, “How are you alive and not crazy?”

“I am trying to eat my breakfast here,” Jonghyun picks up a spoon, _“Your Highness.”_

His ‘Your Highness’ sounds like You Royal Dish Mop. Minhyun forgoes any disrespect and leans closer, grabbing his face to inspect any signs of poisoning or hypnosis. When Jonghyun hits his forearm for the fourth time he lets go, perplexed.

“Does this mean I lost you,” the Prince’s mouth goes slack, “to my own father? To join his circle time? Sipping tea and eating mango slices under one of the old pavilions, talking about boring politics?”

“The king’s inner circle is not circle time, Hyunnie-yah, stop calling it that,” Jonghyun bats the man away (who is more boy than anything), “and how do we know it was a test? It could’ve easily been just a reward.”

“Jonghyun-ah, my friend, my brother in arm, my rival since birth,” Minhyun tells him in his sincerest voice, “nothing father does is just simply it. There’s an ulterior motive.”

“Maybe his ulterior motive is to let me deal with the aftermath and wait for how long it will take for me to kill you,” Jonghyun sips his tea.

“That’s rude,” Minhyun slaps him on the back, “and you need to see father to like, thank him for the reward. As quick as your little legs can.”

Jonghyun kicks him quickly before he rises and finds the king’s nearest study. After three decisive knocks, he pushes the door and peers in. A single note on the clean table top. Jonghyun debates the consequences of entering the king’s chamber without prior permission. He reckons he can risk it seeing as he’s still in favour of the man – the favour carries on for a day or two after his expeditions. He must exploit this.

He grabs the note and quickly slips out.

On it is the address to a place.

Jonghyun has a feeling where it is and who it leads to.

 

 

The Lotus Palace, the city’s brothel, receives a service requirement. Ren is required for an indefinite service. Requester: General Kim of the Imperial Army.

Ren only covers his mouth with his pretty fan and bows his head at the service. The pay is enough to cover rent for his family, perhaps even to buy their own plot of land.

Whatever he is doing, he’s doing it right.

 

Jonghyun had not kid about the whole not being able to sleep.

He hasn’t slept for about a week (or more – Minhyun is not counting or anything). His eyebags are about the size of the entire Joseon dynasty’s debts. He carries through his days a bit sluggishly but still functional, his men and those around him looking out for his little stumbles as he trudges through the day.

But at night? He’s awake and powered by sheer forces of amusement and entertainment from one gisaeng, whose nightly reappearance at court raises significantly more eyebrows but no inquiries from anyone. Candidates undergoing the test are allowed to exist judgement-free, for the most part. The courtesans are unpredictable creatures, vicious and petty. They jump at chances to tear apart anyone, generals and kings be damn.

For the most part, Jonghyun doesn’t care. He’s precious like that. He has other priorities in life, like how to not strangle the Crown Prince as his childhood friend forces chicken soup down his throat, trying to stay awake during the day on two hours of sleep, dodging responsibilities from the higher ups by veering into cobwebbed corners and outdoing Ren in pointless competitions.

They seriously turn everything into a competition. It’s worse than when he grew up with Minhyun who is a competitive soul by birth. Jonghyun is filled with such a desire to one up Ren in everything, more than when he was with Minhyun because he knows he is superior in life than that brat, that he dedicates the rare spare moments he has to practice the craft Ren proposed they compete at that night.

It started with calligraphy, then to playing instruments. They relocate to the garden pavilion to host one impromptu stone skipping contest. Some nights they walk and jab fingers at each other as they circle the endless palace grounds. Some nights they sit by the lake and Jonghyun teaches Ren how to swim and dive. There were incidents. One shoe was lost.

At one point they sparred and Ren almost cut up his sleeves. That man is dangerous with sharp objects and Jonghyun forever imprinted that knowledge into his brain, wary whenever Ren holds something remotely stab-worthy.

Minhyun doesn’t cease fussing over him, but sometimes he hears the guy praying in front of the Buddha statue ominous things like ‘please keep him like this for now exhaustion is curable death isn’t’.

Minhyun has a few loose screws in that small head of his. It explains many things, like how he is inferior to Jonghyun in life and skills.

 

“There’s a night festival,” Ren slips into Jonghyun’s chamber. He blinks twice, shrugs on his robe and fastens his belt, face looking at his bed.

“Do you have money?”

He hears the scoff. “Of course not. You’re buying me food.”

“Why should I? What if you bleed me dry like the king?”

“You lost yesterday, so this is my reward,” Ren decides and puts on his outer coat, seized from the hooks near his wardrobe. “Move faster I’m easily bored.”

“Disrespectful leech,” Jonghyun complains yet tails the man out the door.

“I heard that!”

 

“How…” he stares at the food being demolished and inhaled in front of his naked eyeballs. “How can one person eat this much?”

“Magic and exercising, Jonghyun-ah,” Ren stares at him dead in the eyes and swallows the sugared cherries. Jonghyun wrinkles his nose, not used to messy eating besides those close to him – Yoon Jisung with his generous sprinkle spray of food needs to be taken away far far from him.

“Disgusting,” he says, but pays for three more rounds of food anyways.

The gisaeng hides a grin behind his sleeve, finger curled around Jonghyun’s coin pouch. Their fingers almost touch as Ren drags Jonghyun down lanes of lanterns and candlelight.

 

The nightly expeditions continue like a tradition. More people hover around Jonghyun, with assorted hand gestures like they want to help but don’t know how to. The strolls come to a stop when the king summons Jonghyun and prince Sengwoo to the throne room, both men kneeling, heads bowed as the eunuch reads the announcement.

An expedition, to the northern kingdom. Sending out soldiers in the roles of diplomats to gauge the northern court in plain speech. They mumble their assent and rise, hands clasped firmly by their sides. They file out the door, Seongwoo slanting his eyes every now and then at him, as if to estimate how fast and hard he’ll keel over if tripped over a threshold or an uneven tile in the floorwork. Jonghyun walks with him to the main courtyard where he bids farewell to the prince, not before Seongwoo grabs him by the shoulder and stares him dead in the eye.

“Be well, hyungnim,” the prince tells him.

“You be well. My father had been force feeding me sleeping potions for the past,” he squints at Seongwoo’s moles, “month or two. I’m sleeping, the hours are enough, go do princely things with Minhyun.”

“Jisung-hyung was worried about you,” Seongwoo squeezes his shoulders a tad too hard, “if you fall over I think half the palace will rush you to a physician before you hit the ground.”

“That’s reassuring, Woo-ah, but go away. Slice off the old fencing teacher’s hair. Mock Minhyun on his calligraphy,” Jonghyun fends Seongwoo off him, laughing as the younger prince jabs him playfully on the arms. He catches the boy’s wrists, jostling their joint hands.  “Leave, I’ll be fine.”

“If you’re sure,” the prince passes him a look.

“Draft a letter to your beloved if you’re that bored, your highness,” he whispers back and cackles in sadistic delight as Seongwoo turns lipstick red, “now begone before I let the courtesans have at you.”

“I thought we had solidarity,” Seongwoo clasps his chest, giggling out of nervousness, “I thought I could trust you.”

“Leave, Seongwoo-ah,” he gives the boy one more shove, “now.”

“Later, hyung!”

 

 

“I’m leaving for a foreign expedition,” he tells Ren straight off the bat that night, to avoid any fits that could be thrown. “We could either postpone these meetings or like cancel them now and resume when I get back. The expedition is only about three days.”

“Great!” Ren beams.

Jonghyun looks at him, not understanding the enthusiastic great.

“Uh that’s good? Why are you-”

“Where to?”

“The north.”

“Brilliant. I always want to visit the northern kingdom. Such nice fur coats. They have these boots that are waterproof and my mother wants to have a few,” Ren sits up straighter, “do you leave by tomorrow?”

“Well yes but,” Jonghyun stops him, “you’re not coming.”

Ren stares at him like he’s a dumb animal.

“I am.”

“No you’re not.”

“Don’t even try,” he wags a finger in front of the man’s face, “you are not coming. Final. Full stop. No.”

“Please~”

“Don’t.”

“You know you can and you will~”

Jonghyun knows he is fighting a losing battle. There is no way he can win against those big dewy eyes. It’s a battle of will and his weak little heart is already lost next to this stubborn gisaeng.

“I can’t just-” he begins and visibly deflates as Ren scoots inappropriately next to his face, their noses almost touching.

One blink. Two blinks.

“Fine, do what you want.”

Ren dances around as if he won a free trip to the southern isles, hands twirling wildly in the air. Jonghyun deflates next to him, breath and life force drained out of him. Collapsing next to him, Ren looks up at Jonghyun.

“Ask me something, oh so brave general.”

“I can end you and you know this, stop disrespecting me,” he replies with no bite, turning to fold his clothes.

“A question. Any question.”

“What’s your real name?” He asks, just to humour the guy.

“Choi Minki,” Ren, or Minki hums.

Jonghyun pauses. Squints.

“That’s pretty,” Jonghyun hums. _Like you,_ his thoughts interfere. He shakes himself loose of those thoughts, let himself think of Jisung’s stupid jokes during a diplomatic meeting today.

“I know, like me. My mother had good taste,” Minki stretches and bounces out the door. “When you’re done let’s go swimming.”

“It’s winter,” Jonghyun deadpans.

“And?”

“Let me finish up this travelling coat. Bring a towel.”

 

 

Seongwoo cackles for the ninth time in the span of one hour, horse stepping in rhythm with Minki’s own.

But then again this entire expedition is smitten with the man, and they haven’t even left the city walls yet.

Choi Minki bats his eyelashes once more at some poor sod who’s close to falling off his horse because of how completely off-guard he was caught, thinking that the pretty person General Kim is forced to allow to wander through their closely-knitted team, flirting and charming their way here and there.

“Jonghyun-ah!” Minki gestures to him. “Bring me my things.”

“Do it yourself!”

“Hurry! My shoes are getting ruined!”

“Is that a man or?” One soldier leans over to ask Jonghyun.

“It’s annoying and goes by Minki,” he grunts and motions for his horse to walk faster. When he passes Minki, he taps the man’s elbow. Minki ceases whatever jokes he shares with Seongwoo and follows Jonghyun.

“You’re jealous~” he sings.

“Faster or the passage to the northern kingdom will be blocked by the evening.”

“Jealous,” Seongwoo jeers from the back.

 

 

Kang Dongho, the king of the northern realm, welcomes their expedition with open arms. A whirlwind of servants and maids strip the small team of their travelling coats and soaking boots, ushering squawking men into chambers and giving them appropriate clothes. Within a few instances, they are all bundled in thick coats and boots and ushered back out to greet the king, now more men than dripping wet rats.

“My friends from the south,” the king booms with a thick northern accent, “welcome to my humble abode.”

They drop to their knees, heads bowed. The king gestures genially for them to rise, motioning for his frozen court to resume their chatter. Minki clings onto his elbow, frown marring his forehead. Jonghyun reaches over to smooth out the wrinkles, eyes roving over the court, assessing the potential of assassins or worse, courtesans. Minki lets his fingers drape over Jonghyun’s, eyes widening at an approaching lady. They both straighten, gripping each other tighter. Minki takes in a breath. Jonghyun steadies his own heartbeat.

King Dongho lets out a laugh and descends from his throne to give Jonghyun an intimate clasp on the back, seizing his hands in his own. Minki separates from Jonghyun as does the lady who sees this and backs off, veering to another victim. Minki bows and steps away, his eyes spelling out _If you need help make a distressed sound I will come and rescue you but for now you’re on your own mate._

Jonghyun appreciates the concern. It’s more than Seongwoo had given him, the rat sneaking off to canoodle with the second prince of the northern kingdom, Kang Euigeon.

“Please, General, may I have a word outside? I understand the weather is chilly compare to the southern isles, but if you could indulge this old fool for a while it’d be much appreciated,” Dongho smiles at him, all teeth.

This should be interpreted as: _Come outside even if you have to scrape your frozen legs off the ground to follow. **Now**._

He values his legs so he follows accordingly.

“Your Highness,” he bows, “what is it that you require of me?”

“I’d like no games and tactics of you southerners, if you please,” Dongho beams at him, “it’s about the alliance, yes, your reason of visit?”

“If I say no it’ll mean yes anyway,” Jonghyun replies, “yes.”

“And by what means do you think my kingdom will align with yours?”

This is inching towards dangerous territories and Jonghyun’s job descriptions include detouring people from heading towards these territories. He’s about to suggest a logical and reasonable approach to kingdom alliance when king Dongho looks at him.

“I was thinking of-”

“Marriage. Always effective. Completely doable.”

Dongho brightens while Jonghyun tries not to show how completely horrified he is at the suggestion. The alarms in his head blare warnings like _with who and when_ , but he reminds himself that he has a job and he needs to do it well or Minhyun or Seongwoo might be married off to Dongho’s fifth daughter or something, the poor saps.

“I was thinking of something more along the line of a contract or assimilation of our citizens,” he tries but Dongho puts up a hand.

“At first, I was thinking of marrying Euigeon off to you,” at Jonghyun’s knee-jerk reaction of abject horror, the king continues, “but I saw you with your partner, lovely person whoever that was, and I thought that it wouldn’t be right to break apart two couples in one night.”

“Two couples?” Jonghyun reasonably asks.

“I may be old,” he quickly denies, “but I know the secrets of my own palace, General. That and Euigeon isn’t exactly subtle when it comes to exchanging letters with his beau,” Dongho grins, “the stableboy brought me plenty of gossip in one sitting. It was mildly entertaining, the love life of my son.”

“Uh so does that mean-”

“The two fools can get married when spring arrives,” the king hums, “there shall be more travelling between our two nations, of course, but with due time, I believe a unified Joseon can be created, through love of our children.”

“Thank you so much, sir, for letting Seongwoo and Euigeon-ssi have that opportunity,” he bows.

“Marriage with love is hard to find in our times,” the king looks far away, into the eye of a blizzard, “but as a father I always want the best for my children. If to Seongwoo is where he’ll be happiest, Euigeon can go. At the same time it’s very beneficial to our kingdoms, therefore I don’t see the harm in indulging their joys.”

“Thank you, your highness,” he repeats. Dongho clasps his shoulder, the left one, uninjured from an ambush he protected Dongho from two years past. They both remember the tear of muscle. It was this unselfish foolhardiness that earned him special affection from both kings of Joseon, this unconditional sacrifice for his kingdom. A squeeze, and a pat.

“You too, protect what you have. Only the gods know how rare it is to find something like yours.”

“Of course, Your Highness,” he replies mechanically, although he doesn’t know what it is that he has or how special it supposedly is.

“Trust me, young General,” the king taps the top of his skull, “you will know.”

 

“You good?” Minki almost trips manoeuvring his way through throngs of people to reach Jonghyun, assessing with his eyes for any injuries. “He didn’t hold your family to ransom or anything, no?”

“The royal family is my family, Minki-yah, be a bit hard to hold them ransom,” he rolls his eyes, taking Minki’s hand.

“Okay but are you okay?”

He looks into doe eyes, long lashes and pouty lips. Thinks about what the king said.

“Yeah I should be right if I sleep early tonight. Come.”

“Oh good I was going to drag you away anyway,” Minki steps next to him, warm and familiar, scent of young grass blooming from each step he takes that creases the robe he dons.

“Why?” He pulls the gisaeng closer.

“Oh my, General Kim and his lovely companion!” A voice shrieks at them. Jonghyun walks even faster.

“Yeah that,” Minki power walks out of the hall with Jonghyun, their legs weirdly in synch.

“Wait! Wait!”

They break into a sprint, cackling as the winter winds toss their long hair and blow air into the flaps of their robes.

 

 

“Jonghyun-ah.”

“Shush you’re younger than me.”

“The princes are cute. I saw Euigeon feeding Seongwoo fruits.”

“Seongwoo always sneaks off to write love letters to Euigeon. He thinks the whole world doesn’t know, but we do. At least five people in the inner court read his letters. They’re disgustingly soft. Minhyun broke down laughing three times in the same week. I’m glad the king has the grace to let them be disgusting together so that all of this secretive stuff stop. If Jisung-hyung whisper to me about another letter I think I might have to smash all of Seongwoo’s ink stones.”

“What about you? Marrying soon?”

Silence.

“I don’t know, gisaengnim. Maybe soon. Maybe never. My father never married and he is fine. The bachelor life seems to suit both of us well.”

“Boring~,” a sleeve against the light casting inside their shared room. “I want to get married. Mother gets too fussy if I grow old and wrinkly without anyone to look after me. She has enough to worry about with my two sisters and my father.”

“I don’t think you growing old and wrinkly is possible in this lifetime,” Jonghyun scoffs.

“I know it won’t, because hello, I am flawless?” Minki snorts, still stupidly attractive. “But mother wants the best for me and I will get married soon. Maybe next year.”

“To who?”

Minki giggles and bides him goodnight.

“No seriously Minki, to who?”

“You already know who,” Minki winks at him from across the room.

_I do not,_ his mind tells him. _But I do_ , his heart says.

 

 

Euigeon, as a result of Seongwoo Stupidity Exposure Syndrome, demands to head to the southern kingdom, to meet his relations and establish bonds or something like that.

They all hear _I am only going to make sure I look good in my in-laws’ eyes_ but wisely choose not to comment on it. Criticism is reserved only for Jonghyun, the most superior in terms of royalty familiarity and military commanding. That morning, Jonghyun lets the two engaged princes be, taxed out at playing messenger back and forth between the two of them for years. Minki flits in between soldiers, handing out rolls of cloth to protect their ears through the blizzard although Prince Euigeon assured them that it is only a mild one, not to frostbite level. But he with his northerner’s body and immune system could not understand how cold it is for the band of southerners as they continue to wrap themselves in warm layers lest a body part has to be amputated due to the cold later.

They leave, with the king’s blessing and permission of access through shortcuts. Before long, the junction that separates the border between the two kingdoms emerge and Seongwoo signals for a short break. They get off their horses, feed water to the mighty animals and huddle around a few melting logs as the winds blow around them.

“Say, our mystery guest,” a young and cheeky soldier nudges Minki, “what do you do for a living?”

Minki glances up at him and says “Gisaeng” like it’s no big deal. He then turns back to rolling bandages for Jonghyun.

The soldier startles so hard he almost slips.

“A gisaeng?” He whispers. “Sir, sir, you are at the height of your reputation right now. You cannot keep these types of people as company. It will ruin what you have built up for our kingdom.”

“ _What had he built up for this kingdom,”_ Seongwoo whispers loudly and sarcastically to Euigeon. They giggle briefly.

“I suggest you stop the slander against Minki-ssi,” Jonghyun deals out a withering stare as the soldier bows his head and curls into himself. “Who I choose to keep company has nothing to do with my reputation. I can and will be by his side and that is separate from what I do at my day job.”

Minki doesn’t meet his eyes.

“Do you need me to report to the king about this?” Euigeon approaches him later, eyes not trying to trace the distance between him and Minki. Jonghyun tries not to think of that too, slinging a leg over his horse’s back.

“Let’s not. Men, assemble! We’ll head back before night falls if we leave now.”

Minki still does not meet his eyes.

 

That night Minki does not show up. And the night after that. And the night after.

This continues for a week. Or maybe three. Minhyun once again is keeping count, Jonghyun not asking why and waiting. Still.

“Alright, that’s it,” Jisung throws him out by the 21st day, “leave, find him, assassinate that kid, but do not mope around in my study. Off! Begone with your negative energy!”

“Did you have tea with my father or something?” He answers as an empty scroll just misses his shoulder. Jisung shrieks something like _“He is a wise follower of the teacher do not disrespect your elder like this Hyunnie-yah!”_ before pulling the door shut behind him.

Jonghyun thumbs the piece of paper, sitting inside the folds of his robes since the day he snitched it off the king’s study. He walked the route, he knew the route, he memorised how to get there. With Jisung’s constant “Leave me be with my suffering!” he figures a sulky and angered Minki would be less insufferable as the foreign minister with the new workload on top of the wedding preparations.

 

He knows he should expect people similar to Minki’s calibre, being so ethereal women and men alike are entranced by his beauty as he walks past, but the belief is one that he places in reincarnation as a plant in the next life or finding sane companions in the palace – might exist but he wouldn’t run across them.

He is wrong in that because standing outside Lotus Palace is another gisaeng so beautiful he almost chokes at the angles of this person’s jaw.

“Can I help you?” A ridiculously tall child emerges from inside. Also beautiful. Dark doe eyes, rose-tinted skin, lips like a flower’s bud – that kind of beauty.

“Choi Minki?” He chokes out before he runs away. _Focus, Kim Jonghyun, you are a trained soldier who handled ambush and limb dislocation_. Pretty people shouldn’t intimidate him. He is a strong capable man who can handle severe doses of attractiveness.

The tall person frowns, the corners of his mouth pulled down. The person with the ridiculously sharp jawline and small face blinks at him, then snaps his finger.

“It’s the guy hyung was talking about, the general,” deep voice and tanned skin, “General Kim.”

“Should we,” the tall guy, that is a man’s voice – no one’s voice is that low, “let him in?”

“But where is he?” Jonghyun finds his voice in the void of his existence. “I just,” _wanted to talk, make sure he’s not dead, check up on him_ , “does he not want to see me?”

“That’s putting it lightly,” the jawline man scoffs, “he forbids any of us to interact with you if you ever show your face here.”

“That him though?” The child points out (must be a child, his face screams no less than 16). They all turn to see Minki, arm looped around an elbow of a nobleman with enough fats to spare the four of them. Minki’s face exhibits all the professionalism of a gisaeng, laughing delicately at whatever the man is saying. A fat cheque is signed and hidden under Minki’s sleeve, at which hands roam and grab at his thigh, dangerously close to his crotch.

Minki’s eyes flash in alarm and he looks up, locking eyes with Jonghyun. All expressions fall from his face besides clear distaste, but disgust quickly replaces it as he steps back, fending the eager hands away.

Jonghyun stands still. His eyes are firmly asking one question.

_Do you need help?_

Minki pushes the man away and widens his eyes at Jonghyun.

_Yes, obviously, over here, now._

Jonghyun moves to separate the two, standing bodily between them. He is not making physical contact, but his stare at the nobleman is enough to convey the message of _hands off, leave._

Maybe Jisung badmouthed him or the prince brothers spread baseless rumours about him, but the nobleman jerks back, gives him one terrified look and books it out of there, cheques fluttering in the air. The other two gisaengs make quick use of their long arms, snatching the papers and stashing them inside their own robes and pouches, feet moving nimbly.

“Woojin-ah!” Minki calls. “Come.”

A shadow dashes by. A boy with a snaggletooth and wide eyes separate Jonghyun and Minki, Minki stepping several steps to put distance between the two of them. The other two have long since disappeared, sensing obvious tension and a potential fight breaking out.

“Where have you been?” He asks.

“Here. I figured my disappearance would’ve said something. Like I’m not coming back, for good,” Minki flutters a sleeve in the air, his eyes not meeting Jonghyun’s.

“You know that I don’t care about what was said.”

“Well I don’t know. Do you really? You don’t tell me anything. What do I know?”

Woojin looks like he wants to help but he’s stuck, head looking from Minki and to Jonghyun. His face spells out _do I help or do I leave please circle one response_. Minki makes the decision for him by looking at Jonghyun, possibly for the last time.

“Woojinnie, please escort General Kim out. If he is here next time please forbid him from entering.”

Woojin moves to forcibly remove him, but he understands and he accepts it, walking away as soon as the word leaves Minki’s mouth.

He turns back and sees only Minki’s back. Woojin whispers a soft ‘sorry’ at him and dashes inside, closely by Minki’s side.

 

 

“Father,” he walks inside his father’s chamber, not even bothering with a hello, “let’s discuss my life.”

“The one you thought you had?” Youngmin yells at him from inside his wardrobe.

“Be a good father!”

“Be a good son first!” Youngmin emerges, hair in disarray. He aggressively tugs his robe close, smelling like incense and smoke.

“Did you just burn another offering?” Jonghyun squints and sniffs discreetly. His father glares at him and busies himself with tidying, not denying the allegation.

“Father, sir, you burnt one offering this morning,” Jonghyun hopes his voice says _I’m absolutely horrified at your destructive behaviour_ , “why?”

“I was stressed out, don’t mock me,” Youngmin’s mouth twists, “my destressing method aside, why are you here?”

Jonghyun sits on his father’s bed, Youngmin on his left. The older man waits, knowing Jonghyun, for all his poetry and heartfelt letters, cannot speak coherent sentences under pressure or to save his life.

“How do I know that I’m being recruited for the king’s inner-” he begins to ask but Youngmin backhands him on the forearm.

“Nope wrong question, try again,” is all he offers.

Jonghyun gives him a can you not look.

“I don’t follow,” he says, because he ran out of intelligent things to say.

“There’s no test, my stupid son, there was never a test,” Youngmin grabs his forearm, “that was a rumour someone started after seeing two girls left the king’s numerous studies in tears. One time one guy saw what was happening in there and resigned. Homophobic bunch.”

“What?”

“You don’t need to know specifics, just that there is no test, you are already in the king’s inner circle,” Youngmin nudges him with his elbow, “how else do you think we always let you talk during our meetups?”

“You call those meetups tea times and gossip hour,” Jonghyun throws a vicious look at his father who shrugs carelessly, “how was anyone supposed to know they’re legitimate?”

“Because you only see the people closest to the king there? How dumb are you? I thought I raised you better than this.”

“Don’t bash me you neglectful monk,” Jonghyun bats the hand away, “so no test?”

“No test, my son. The only test he took was probably watching us all deal with ridiculous situations and gauge our characteristics from there. You by being the token brave but stupid knight had been in the circle for a long time, Jongie, don’t even bother with being in the king’s favour you are so far up his heart we’ll need to cut him three times to get you out.”

“That’s,” Jonghyun clears his throat, “reassuring.”

“I know what it is you’re going to ask but I want to hear it from your damn mouth, because only Buddha knows how much you go to me for help,” Youngmin tells him, and waits.

Waits a bit more. Mutters ‘I can count those times in one hand.’

Jonghyun doesn’t want to give in. Knows that any more suppressing would lead to the same circle of him denying and denying. His days are monotonous, all with Minki’s last words echoing inside his head. Someone had

“How do I tell someone I love them and my reputation has nothing to do with the fact that I do?”

“Well, you just do,” Youngmin so helpfully tells him, with a serious expression.

“I am so tempted to swear at you right now,” Jonghyun replies.

“A man who lies cannot fulfil his duties well,” Youngmin strokes his hair, strands dishevelled from his fingers combing through, “even if it’s with himself. A completely open man can devote himself to the things he believes in without fear and that is the kind of man you can become and I believe you will become.”

“But,” he feels his shoulders losing their rigidity, “I don’t know how to.”

“Of course you know how to. You know the answer. You just need to act out on it.”

“How are you so good at this?” _How have I never sought you out before,_ he also wants to add. Youngmin’s hand finds the back of his head and pulls him to his chest, patting Jonghyun’s hair softly.

“I know you,” he answers, simply, “sometimes better than yourself.”

Jonghyun counts to ten before his father detaches from him, pinching his cheek like his childhood again.

“Now go and make things so, or don’t return. I will not accept you ruining your chances at being happy.”

He even adds in a kick to Jonghyun’s shins for good measure.

“Father,” he stops at the door, “thank you.”

Youngmin waves him away, rolling his eyes.

_Anytime, kiddo._

 

 

Woojin is napping when Guan Lin shakes him awake, head falling off the pillow that is his crossed arms.

“What?” He grouses.

“The general guy is outside again,” the child reports, lip jutted out in distress.

“Like outside? Like in this cold ass weather outside?” Woojin reiterates, just to make sure. Apparently the guy is super smart. He should know better to pursue Minki-hyung at a reasonable temperature and time.

“Yes. Jinyoung-hyung found a blanket and we put it over him, but I’m not too sure what to do next. Do we,” Guan Lin gestures with his head towards Minki’s chamber, “or not?”

“Hold that thought maybe I can ask him,” Woojin gets up, joints popping, “pray for me.”

 

“Hyung,” he knocks.

“No,” is the answer.

“Hyung he’s outside,” he tries again.

“Tell him no,” the voice insists.

“Well I can’t tell him that now if he’s knocked out by the cold because he’s been waiting for hours out there,” he aims his voice into the crack between the door and wall. Like a miracle from the heaven, Minki kicks down his door and trips his way outside, bypassing three gisaengs who raise their eyebrows at Woojin. He deems a shrug explanatory enough, tired of playing messenger for the quarrelling couple for the past moon cycle. They should just get married. Minki can just leave their brothel he’s rich enough from General Kim. Woojin should be given a break.

“Hyung, Jinyoung-hyung got soju, wanna get drunk?” Guan Lin catches up to him.

“Yeah gimme that,” Woojin follows.

 

 

“Stupid,” he hears a thump. His chest feels heavy.

Another thump, accentuated by another ‘stupid’, but with tears.

“Why am I being hit?” He asks, out loud. Maybe his attacker will hear him out.

“Jonghyunnie,” someone sobs, “you’re not dead!”

“Well,” he coughs, “death would be preferable to this. What is happening? Where am I? What am I doing?”

“Inside,” something trying to pry his eyelids open. He does it for them. “How is frostbite feeling?” Choi Minki asks him, hovering from above.

“Help me up,” he uses his elbows to propel himself forward, “then you can hear my long-winded explanation.”

“None of that,” Minki pushes him back down, “speak, from the bed. I don’t trust your limbs to cooperate after I had to scrape you from the curb.”

“Marry me,” is what Jonghyun decides to go with, after no consideration of his words at all.

Minki pauses and looks at him. Blinks once.

“Okay, and?”

“What do you mean ‘and’? I proposed. Now accept.”

“But couldn’t that have waited like, until tomorrow. I was mad at societal pressures but I don’t think I’m so mad to turn down a marriage proposal. Why must you resort to drastic measures?”

“Well you didn’t seem to be forgiving me any time soon so I thought I better do something fast and not regret it later.”

“Like dying? I’d regret that.”

“Not telling you how I feel would probably be worse.”

“Probably. Just probably,” Minki squints and punches his chest again.

“Hey Minki,” Jonghyun squeezes his hands, “say yes.”

“I’m not kicking you out, so it’s not a no. I’ll have to discuss with mother first. Oh Buddha she’ll be so over the top. She already planned all of this. I’m just waiting for her to combust-” Minki rants, hand still linked with Jonghyun. Suddenly he stops, brings his face a breath away from Jonghyun’s and mutters.

“Stupid soldiers thinking they can get away with anything as soon as they propose. Unbelievable.”

Jonghyun closes that gap between their faces.

Minki breaks apart to squint at him, “yeah we need to work on kissing, but you’ll have me. It’s not a lost cause.”

“I hope you trip and die on your way out tonight.”

“It’s actually morning.”

Jonghyun punches him weakly as Minki flashes him an unabashed smile.

“Hey, hubby,” Jonghyun preens, “guess I win this time huh?”

“I think me losing permanently is a staple in this relationship and that is not changing anytime soon.”

“Good.”

“Now kiss me again I’m cold.”

**Author's Note:**

> Please forgive me this is so late I'M SO SORRY


End file.
